


someday it might be enough

by mazily



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Berena Secret Santa, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: Drunk Carolling, both words capitalized (in alternating red and green), is an annual event at Sian's local.





	someday it might be enough

**Author's Note:**

> An AU ending to All I Want for Christmas Is You, in which Bernie's entire introduction (affair, injury, leaving the army) happens years earlier and at a different hospital, and Sian and Serena stayed close through the years (and Sian got "the twins" a bit earlier too).
> 
> This is for carolecopeland, whose prompt was: "fluffy christmas eve traditions." I'm afraid my definition of fluffy is a bit out of left field, but the love and support of a good friend (no matter how ridiculous her methods) is my definitely my ideal of soft and fluffy.

"Up," Sian says. 

Serena glares up at her from her spot on the bench, trying to ignore her coworkers as they continue to mumble carols around the tree. Trying to ignore her guilt at not joining them, her shame at just about everything else that's happened recently. Trying to swallow her rage, incandescent and murderous, at Edward and his myriad betrayals. Her eyes sting. She refuses to cry. 

"Don't make me drag you," Sian adds, when Serena fails to move.

"You wouldn't dare." 

"Try me." Sian sits down next to her on the bench and bumps her shoulder against Serena's.  Rests her head against Serena's shoulder when she doesn't respond; sits close to her, her warmth a balm against the chill of the evening, her presence a comfort (if an irritating one). 

Serena's entire body feels like it's vibrating: whether from anger or the cold, she can't quite tell. "I can't believe I let him,'' she starts, but there are too many ways to finish that sentence. Too many betrayals. "I can't believe I--" 

Sian presses her leather-gloved hand against Serena's mouth. "No," she says, "We are not discussing your lout of an ex-husband tonight."

Serena quirks an eyebrow. Refuses to ask what the bloody hell Sian's doing here if not to let Serena bitch about Edward (a favor passed back and forth between them over the years,  _ lean on my shoulder and bitch about the ex of the moment _ ). She isn't sure she wants to know, isn't sure she'll survive the answer.

Sian makes a sound of disappointment at Serena's refusal to engage--a cross between a cough and a growl, angry but trying to be sexy about it--and takes Serena's hand in her own. "We, "she adds, standing and pulling Serena to her feet alongside her. Serena only wobbles a bit. Catches herself before she falls back down on her arse, saving herself from yet another mortifying experience. "We are going to Drunk Carolling!"

*

Drunk Carolling, both words capitalized (in alternating red and green), is an annual event at Sian's local. Originally conceptualized by Sian herself, back at uni, when she'd been trying to raise money for one of her pet projects ("So a carol party?" Serena'd asked; "Only with at least 100% fewer grandmothers in attendance," Sian'd argued). It's been years since Serena last attended one; different countries, cities, work schedules (and Ellie, of course) have meant Serena usually gets an update later, a photo if she's particularly lucky or unlucky (she's often not sure which). 

Fairy lights blink around the sign declaring the event tonight ( _ one night only! _ ), making it look both shabby and festive. Serena imagines that's rather the point. The cover is twenty pounds. Serena can't make out which charity it goes to, but knows it's something worthwhile. Sian may not always look, or particularly act, it, but she's serious about her philanthropy.

"Holby City Children's Health Services," Sian says. 

Serena slumps down in the passenger seat. "Didn't ask," she says. 

Sian leans across the console and kisses Serena on the cheek. "You forget how long I've known you, darling," she says, and undoes Serena's seatbelt. "Now let's get in there. I expect you to drink too much, sing very loud, and get at least one phone number before the night is through."

"Now," Serena starts, drawing out the vowels. She just wants to go home and drown herself in a case or three of her favorite Shiraz. Instead she puts her hat back on her head. Opens the car door and steps outside, meets Sian near the boot. At least there will be alcohol enough inside.

"You never have to call." Sian wraps an arm around Serena's, pulls Serena close as they walk across the carpark. "You can even delete the number while Elinor opens the ridiculously expensive presents I'm sure are awaiting her under the tree. But I expect you to flirt up a storm and get someone's number nonetheless. It'll be good for you."

"I really do miss that bespectacled girl from freshers week who would do whatever I said," Serena says.

"You don't mean that," Sian says. 

"I really do," Serena says, but she pulls Sian close. Presses a kiss to her cheek.

Sian pays their entry fee, and Serena slips the few quid in her wallet into the charity bin. Sian smirks at Serena as they queue to check their coats. "You'll have to leave the dead rabbit, you know," she says. "It would be pity were someone to run off with it, I know it's your favorite hat, but--"

Serena flips her off. Passes her belongings across and watches Sian slip the ticket into her bra.  Inside, someone very, very tone deaf belts out a rousing chorus of Jingle Bells. Serena sighs.

"Order me a bottle," she tells Sian. "An entire case, if they'll let you.''

*

She finishes her first couple of glasses quickly, barely tasting the wine. Sian keeps pointing out men--"How about him?" over and over, until finally she gives up with a huff--while Serena tries to concentrate on her wine. To tune out the music and destroy all of her memories of today. 

Eventually, she's had enough to join in with a round of Carol of the Bells, rolling her eyes at herself all the while. Sian nudges her, asks if she'll be okay on her own. Points out a decidedly younger man making eyes at her from across the room. 

"Go," Serena says. "What is it you always say--deck the halls with boys and bubbly?"

Sian leans across the bar to order Serena another glass. Busses Serena's cheek, adjusts her decolletage, and makes her way across the pub to entrap her latest toyboy. Next to Serena, a woman clearly tries to swallow her laughter, makes a bit of a hash of it by trying to take a sip of her drink to cover. Serena feels her voice all the way down her spine--there's just something about it that makes her shiver.

"Mum," the young man next to her says, "Don't be--"

Serena turns to look at them. Ready to glare or smile as the situation warrants.

"--rude," he finishes.

"Sorry," the first woman says. She looks to be about Serena's own age--a touch taller, much blonder, slender and--well, she's beautiful, that much even Serena can recognize. "I'm Bernie, and this is Cam. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it's a bit tight quarters."

"As I've been advised I've a tendency to project to the back of the house, as it were, when I've had a few, I'll forgive you just this once." She holds out her hand, feels a spark of  _ something _ at the feel of Bernie's palm against hers. "Serena Campbell," she says. Their hands press together rather longer than is strictly friendly, long enough for Serena to wonder at Bernie's calluses and for Cam to start to look decidedly embarrassed. Finally he coughs, and Bernie drops Serena's hand. Checks flushed, almost like she's been caught out at something; then again, she wasn't wrong about the size of the crowd, and it's rather warm. Serena pushes her sleeves up to her elbows. 

Cam asks if either Bernie or Serena would like another drink. "My shout," he adds.

"I never turn down a free glass of Shiraz," Serena says. "It's a guiding principle of mine."

Bernie looks down at her drink--Scotch, something ridiculously peaty if Serena's any judge, and barely touched--and shrugs. "Why not," she says. Once Cam's back is turned she adds,  _ sotto voce _ , "Will wonders ever cease? Usually he's skint every time we get so much as a coffee together.''

"Were it my daughter doing the buying, I'd assume she'd reduced my house to a pile of ashes and she's dropped out of school to become a groupie," Serena offers, "But then your Cam seems like he's got his head on right so it's probably not all that bad."

"Got all that in less than five minutes, did you?"

"Well, what can I say?" Serena winks. Can't help herself flirting, even on a day like today; feels a rush of warmth at the way Bernie blushes, looks down before making eye contact once more. "I'm very, very good at diagnosing people."

Bernie's blush comes back in full force, but then she's smiling, large and seemingly delighted. "A fellow medic!"

Serena laughs. "I'm usually much faster about touting my credentials," she says. "I'm a consultant vascular surgeon at Holby City Hospital." 

"Trauma's my bread and butter," Bernie says. She pauses, almost imperceptibly (enough so that Serena wonders if she's imagining things, already trying to read Bernie's every reaction, every twitch of the eye and fidgeting finger). "With the RAMC."

Serena's mind immediately jumps to the image of Bernie in uniform--that mess of hair pulled back smartly, the lines of that body in her fatigues. She probably has medals. Serena shivers, drinks some more of her wine, watches the way Bernie traces the rim of her own glass. She hasn't felt this immediately attracted to a woman since she was doing her MBA. She decides to enjoy it; after the month she's had, she deserves it. 

"On leave then?" Serena asks.

"Something like that." She doesn't elaborate. Just lifts her glass, takes a slow swallow.

Right, new topic then. "What a coincidence," Serena finally says, "Two surgeons meeting up in a place like this. I rather thought it would be all twenty-somethings and Sian's--she's the woman I came in with, we've known each other since uni--obnoxious barrister mates."

"My twenty-something son did drag me here," Bernie says, "And it looks like he's now abandoned me for some of his mates, so you weren't far off on the target demographic."

"Well, I for one am glad he decided to drag you," Serena says. 

"I've been on tour the past couple of holidays, and I think he thought it would be a bit of a laugh, bringing his tone-deaf mother to something involving singing. I don't think he put much thought into having to actually spend the evening with me."

Serena tries not to think about Elinor's insistence that she spend the night with her grandmother--where was it Edward said she was staying again? Serena's memories are foggy with embarrassment, anger, disappointment, a toxic swirl of emotions--after Serena told her their Christmas trip to the Cotswolds was cancelled. At least she hadn't blamed Serena at the time (once she talks to her father, Serena's sure the guilt will shift onto her, their relationship returning to its natural state). 

She shrugs, tries to smile through the pain. "He seemed to be having a fine enough time until I horned my way into your conversation. I could--," she starts to offer, but Bernie places a hand on her forearm. Her finger strokes Serena's skin almost absent-mindedly; Serena gives thanks for the heat of the room, that the feeling's not muted through the fabric of her blouse.

"No," Bernie says, smiling softly across the pub at her son, "Let him enjoy himself. He and his sister are spending Boxing Day at mine this year, so I'll be sure to torture him with a few songs then."

"If you're sure?"

Bernie holds up her glass, tilts it in Serena's direction. "I am. I'm enjoying myself too."

Serena can't imagine why she feels such relief at that--other than the obvious, but she's survived being turned down by people she's known much longer--but it's like something's lifted off her chest. She clinks her glass against Bernie's, says, "Let's drink to an enjoyable evening and say no more about the rest."

They drink their way through a terrifying rendition of O Come, O Come, Emmanuel (there's hip-thrusting, and shouting of the word "come," and Serena shudders to think of it), finishing their drinks with no sign of Cam's promised round. Serena feels fuzzy, gloriously so, and it's largely the feel of Bernie pressed against her side that keeps her from jumping out into the crowd to belt a solo. 

"I need a cigarette." Bernie's voice, pitched low and directly next to Serena's ear. 

"Oh," Serena says. She tries to remember where she put that packet she bought when Guy blew onto her ward and stole the CEO job out from under her. Rather thinks Edward might have nicked it from her bag the next morning (either that or Elinor did, which she'd rather not consider). "I don't think I--"

"No, sorry," Bernie says, "I wasn't asking. I have my own. I was just, I'm going outside, do you--"

Serena considers it for a moment; Sian is half-draped across her young man, and there's a fellow at least fifteen years too old for Serena giving her a look from down the bar. And then she looks at Bernie, her fringe just long enough to shade her eyes, her lips slightly chapped and pink, looking like she wants to spend more time with Serena tonight. "Do you think they have heaters set up, or should I get my coat?"

*

There are heaters set up outside, and fairy lights twinkling in the trees. Still, it's a bit cold, and Serena is glad she decided to get her coat (even if it did mean interrupting Sian mid-snog), especially when Bernie gallantly holds it up for her. Helps her into it before putting on a pink coat Serena would never have guessed was hers, except for how lovely she looks in it.

Serena leans back against the wall. Looks up at the almost visible stars. Listens to the click of Bernie's lighter, the sound of her inhaling, sighing out smoke; small sounds to distract from the belting of Christmas carols shouting out every time the door opens. She tries not to watch Bernie too closely, instead sneaks peeks at her out of the corner of her eye. 

"I promised my husband I'd give these up," Bernie says, interrupting the not-quite-silence. 

Serena doesn't know why she'd thought Bernie wasn't married; doesn't understand why it feels like such a betrayal. She thinks about asking Bernie for one of her cigarettes, asking her to light it for her too. 

"Well, ex-husband, now," Bernie continues. "Or close enough."

"Don't let him try to wiggle back into your good graces now you're clear of him." 

"Oh no," Bernie says, "I was the one who--it was my fault we ended things. He's the one who should be wary of me."

"Still," Serena says. She plucks the cigarette from Bernie's hand and puts it to her mouth. Inhales and passes it back, holds in the smoke in her lungs for a second before coughing. "Sorry, I'm more out of practice than I realized." 

"Stay that way," Bernie says. She puts the cigarette out against the wall. "It's a dreadful habit."

"I won't argue with you about that," Serena says. 

Bernie's eye catches on something on the wall above Serena's head, and she flinches. Looks around wild-eyed and nervous, then takes a deep breath. Steps closer to Serena and points up. "Someone clearly thought it would be funny to stick some mistletoe to the wall out here." 

"Well, I'm game if you are," Serena says. She can't tell if Bernie's scared witless or disinterested entirely, but she's kissed her fair share of people under mistletoe over the years and feels sure she can pass it off as a lark, should Bernie panic.  

"Well, if you're game," Bernie says, and she places a hand on Serena's cheek. Leans down and presses a chaste kiss to Serena's mouth, her entire face breaking into a soft smile as she pulls away. Serena winks, delighted, and wraps her hand across the back of Bernie's neck. Pulls her back down into another kiss, and another, and another. Bernie's mouth opens under hers, and she licks inside, the brickwork of the wall a delicious source of friction against her back. 

Her hands slip between Bernie's coat and her blouse, warmed by her body heat. She flirts with the idea of untucking Bernie's blouse, sliding a finger against the skin of her lower back, twists a bit of fabric around--

"Serena Campbell, you dark horse you."

Serena startles at the sound of Sian's voice. She and Bernie both jump, try to separate themselves, Serena's mouth knocking against Bernie's with overlapping  _ fuck _ s. "Sorry," Serena says.

"None necessary," Bernie says.

Serena brushes her hand down Bernie's sleeve, lets herself indulge in the feel of her wrist, the knob of bone, the curve of her thumb. Can't bring herself to stop touching, no matter the look Sian is giving her. Bernie seems to reciprocate, at least, turns her hand and tangles their fingers together. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Sian says, eyes twinkling in that infuriating way she has, "Only it's just about time for the final carol. I have to stay a little past closing to deal with staff, so I understand completely if you'd rather arrange for alternate transportation home."

"No," Serena says. 

She's tempted--of course she is--to turn to Bernie, to suggest they share a taxi, to suggest they share more than that; it's a thrilling, dangerous idea, and were Serena more or less bruised by today's events, sober enough to manage the coordination, she knows she'd have her hand up Bernie's shirt in the back of a car in a matter of minutes. But they've both had more than enough to drink, and Serena was supposed to be on a romantic holiday trip with her ex-husband right now. She tells Sian, "I'll come find you inside," and tries to signal how sorry she is to Bernie. How much she wishes it were any other night. 

Sian  _ tsks _ , telegraphing her disappointment to all and sundry, and turns back toward the door. "Remember our deal, though," she adds. A parting shot. "I'm not letting you in my car without proof." 

"Your deal?" Bernie turns to her, takes her other hand in hers. Thumbs flirting with one another, fingers daring each other to--to what, Serena doesn't know, but she wants to find out. She takes a step back until she's flush with the wall once more, leads Bernie with her by their joined hands.  

"Sian's deal," she says. "I never actually agreed to it."

"Still, it sounds like your ride home depends on your following through on whatever it was." Bernie tilts her head to the side, steps closer and closer again. "Is it anything I can help with?"

"You can," Serena starts, but she's suddenly distracted by Bernie's hand tracing the shell of her ear. She leans up, brushes her nose against Bernie's, presses a kiss to her cheek. And then Bernie's mouth is on hers again, and words leave Serena's mind entirely.

"It's too bad you're going back on tour any minute," Serena says, an indeterminate time later. Brushes another kiss to Bernie's mouth, and leans back against the wall to catch her breath a bit. She'd rather like the chance to get to know Bernie a bit better, on a night she's more likely to remember anything the morning after. 

Bernie's eyes widen. "Erm," she says, "That is. Well, I'm not."

"What?" 

"I'm not going back out," Bernie says. "I was injured on my last tour, demobbed after a lengthy rehab. I've been doing some locum work ever since--covering a parental leave at St. James' at the moment--trying to keep my feet in until I find something permanent I like."

"I hadn't," Serena says, "I thought you said you were on leave."

Bernie's mouth twists--Serena can't quite read it, hasn't known her long enough to know whether she's disappointed or merely confused. "I promise I won't try to move myself in tonight if you were just looking for a bit of fun with a soldier on leave. I can see how I might've given the impression--"

"No." Serena laughs at herself, at her instant reaction, at the way she pulls Bernie back to her. She hadn't noticed Bernie inching back until she was too far away for Serena to play with her lapels. She wraps her arms around Bernie's neck. "Were my daughter and mother not set to descend upon my home at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning, I'd drag you there right now to prove to you how much more--well, no, that would just prove the fun bit, wouldn't it, not disprove the rest." 

She smiles. Moves her hands to Bernie's hair, pulls her down for a kiss. 

"Anyway," she says, when they finally separate, "I'd much rather be sober the first time I get you into bed. I intend to enjoy every inch of you."

"First time?" Bernie looks almost surprised, but happy too. Serena can understand; she feels much the same.

"Ah, good, you caught that." she says. She pulls her mobile from her coat pocket, passes it over to Bernie. Bernie looks at it as if she's never seen a phone before. "Of course," Serena explains, "I'll need a way to contact you."

"Oh." Bernie enters her phone number and hands the mobile back to Serena. 

Serena texts her a quick,  _ dinner next week? ;) Serena _ . "You don't have to answer that now," she says, when Bernie's mobile beeps at them. It's one thing to be brave in text; it's another entirely to have to watch Bernie read the message, react to it live and in person. She thinks she knows what Bernie's answer will be, but doesn't feel strong enough at the moment to bear the possibility she's wrong. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't."

Bernie shrugs. "I'm sure you can think of something to distract me from my phone," she says.

"Ooh, very smooth," Serena says, as she pulls Bernie down for another kiss. Loses yet more time kissing Bernie, swallowing the small noises she makes, trying to figure out whether she really tastes of honeycomb and chocolate cocktails. 

"What's a phone?" Bernie asks. Her mouth returns to Serena's, and Serena drinks her fill.

"Kissing you is going to be my new Christmas Eve tradition," she eventually says. She presses a kiss to Bernie's nose, her cheek, her chin. "Much more fun than Drunken Carolling, if you ask me."

"Oh, I don't know," Bernie says, as her mouth brushes against Serena's once, twice, lazy and relaxed, confident that they're going to do this again, and soon. "I did enjoy that drunken rendition of O Come, O Come Emmanuel." 

The sounds of O Holy Night blast out of the pub as a large group exits, and Serena can't help herself. Hums along for the bit about sin and watches as Bernie leans closer, looming over Serena where she stands slightly slouched against the wall. Feels Bernie's breath against her mouth, practically kissing when she sings, "fall on your knees," starts laughing almost immediately. Bernie manages a straight face for a full second before she joins in--"Oh, god, your laugh," Serena says, "I love it"--as they stand pressed together against the winter night.


End file.
